


the kind of human wreckage that you love

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Implications of Meeting the Parents, M/M, Mild Angst, boys being dumb, miscommunications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: “I said, do you want to fly to New York with me for a week and meet my - my family.”Joe wasn’t imagining the little hitch in Web’s breath, but he couldn’t concentrate on it either. Something cold and panicked had just started sucking all the blood out of his head. He stared at Web, the way Web’s eyes were darting around the room and not meeting his.Joe laughed. He didn’t mean to, it just came out of him. “No,” he said.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster
Comments: 14
Kudos: 100





	the kind of human wreckage that you love

**Author's Note:**

> These shitbirds are impossible to write. I give up. Title from MCR because history is nothing but an ugly circle and emo always comes back to haunt you.

Usually Joe fucked Web face down, because he liked to see the breadth of Web’s bare back and the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched when he pushed up on one elbow to jerk himself off. He liked to lean forward and bury his face in the sweaty hair at the base of Web’s neck, bite the side of Web’s throat, feel the way Web wiggled against him, the hungry tipping of his thick ass into the cup of Joe’s hips. Web liked it too, always rolling over as soon as Joe’s belt came off, lifting his hips into Joe’s hands, rubbing his face through Joe’s pillows, cussing into the mattress. 

But today, Web was on his back, and he was mouthing off. “Shit, Joe, fuck - oh my God, that’s - come on - come _on_ -”

“Jesus Christ!” Joe yelped, surfacing from where he’d been gnawing the furry round of Web’s left pec. “What the hell do you want from me, my dick not enough for you anymore?”

Web whined, mouth open, brows crumpled. Joe was still fucking him, one knee braced on the mattress, his other foot on the floor, Web’s thighs open around his hips. 

“No -” Web gasped, head dropping back when Joe put his back into it, gripping the inside of one of Web’s thighs to pin it flat to the bed. “It’s good, you’re so goddamn - you’re so -” He broke off, breath screwing up tight and choking away into nothing when Joe leaned down over him and let the head of Web’s wet cock rub up into the flat of his belly. 

“Yeah?” Joe demanded. “I’m so what?”

He was so fucking close, is what he was. He was pretty sure Web was too, from the chaotic blotchy flush all over his chest and neck, the way one of his heels had crept into the small of Joe’s back and was digging there, holding Joe tight between his spread legs. 

“I’m gonna come,” Web sobbed, instead of answering. One of his hands jerked down from where it had been clenched on Joe’s headboard and grabbed at his cock. Joe groaned, looking between them to see the frantic twist of Web’s fist on his dick, the pink of the dripping head and the flushed tender foreskin bunching between Web’s fingers. 

“Fuck,” Joe said, hips stuttering as he tried to ride the line between giving it to Web good enough to finish him off and not coming too fast. It didn’t much matter; Web came between them almost instantly, making a strangled howling noise that Joe cut off with his own mouth, pushing his hips forward, over and over. He came almost without meaning to, bullied into it by the hysterical clenching of Web’s tight ass and the slack movement of Web’s distracted tongue against his.

“_Fuck_,” Joe said again, slurring. His cock twitched, balls throbbing. Web moaned, his trembling limbs starting to go limp with post-nut exhaustion. By the time Joe was finished and had started to catch his breath, Web was spread like a starfish beneath him, head turned to the side, half-asleep. 

“Good enough, princess?” Joe panted, bracing himself up on one shaking arm. 

Web made a mumbling sound, head moving weakly against the bed. His eyes were closed, lashes long and lush. His mouth was open. Joe dipped down to kiss the corner of it, nearly faceplanting into the bed. He had to pull out. It kind of hurt, over-sensitive, Web’s ass wringing at him. Web grunted, wincing when Joe got free, then went right back to being limp. He was dark pink all over, sweaty, dotted here and there with marks from Joe’s mouth, his cock soft in the crook of his thigh, spunk on his belly and caught in his pubes. Joe groaned, looking at him. He would have climbed right back on if his dick would cooperate. Web heard him groan and grinned with his eyes still closed. One of his strong legs lifted and kicked out blindly in Joe’s direction, but it was a half-assed attempt. Joe grabbed his foot and braced it against his belly, leaning on it. Web pushed back gently, wiggling his toes. 

“Love you,” Web mumbled to the bed. 

Joe smirked. He dug his thumb into the arch of Web’s foot, making it twitch and making Web gasp. “Yeah,” Joe said. He stood there until his own legs felt strong enough to hold him, then let Web’s foot flop back onto the bed and went to find his phone. It was plugged in by the window, blinking with new messages. 

“Fucksakes,” he mumbled, unlocking it. 

Web grunted a questioning sound from the bed. 

“Mom,” Joe said, scrolling through the texts. Invite for dinner tomorrow, and could he pick up Maxine on the way and also bring juice. 

“Read it to me.”

Joe said, absently, “Fuck off.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Web stretch and roll over, finally belly-down like he belonged. Joe glanced up to get a good look. God, he could eat nothing but that ass every day and live a long and happy life. He bit his bottom lip and touched his cock, just to check. Nope. He pulled his hand away, wincing, and dropped his phone back on the windowsill. 

“Come on, get up,” he said, circling toward the bed. 

Web whined, squirming. He clutched one of Joe’s pillows, cuddling around it. “Go away. I did my work for the day.”

Joe snorted. He leaned over to slap Web’s ass, as much to feel the jiggle as to make Web jump. “You call that work? You laid there like a bitch.”

“Ugh.” Web dragged the pillow over his head, but Joe could still hear him grumble, “You’re so mean to me.”

If Joe was _really_ feeling mean, he’d roll Web right off the bed and kick his ass out of the apartment, like he sometimes did when Web was being too annoying for Joe to tolerate after a long day of work. He was feeling relaxed today, though, at the tail end of a Friday dayshift, balls freshly empty, red sunset light creeping through the blinds. He was overflowing with the milk of human kindness, and told Web so. 

“No,” Web said, “_I’m_ the one overflowing with that,” and pulled the pillow up far enough for Joe to see the edge of his smug smile.

“Gross,” said Joe. “Come on, come shower with me.”

The pillow eased up a little more. Web peered out from under it, one eye suspiciously narrowed. “Yeah?”

Joe shrugged. “Yeah, why not.”

“I don’t know, Joe, why not.” There was a pointed edge to the words, but Joe was in too good a mood to snap back. He didn’t like showering with other people, so sue him. Showers were small, slippery, and treacherous. It only took one painful incident to teach that lesson. 

He rubbed his knuckles into the back of Web’s calf. “Come on.”

Web sighed. He dragged himself off the bed, then stopped to pull Joe close and kiss him. It was a better kiss than the last one, but it put the same hot squirm in Joe’s belly. He let Web bite at him a little, then pushed him off and toward the door. 

“Get going.” He gave Web’s side a nasty pinch to make him yelp. 

They showered (carefully), and Joe washed Web’s hair for him, and his sticky pubes, and slid a couple soapy fingers between his asscheeks for good measure too. Web squirmed, flushing even redder than the water had already made him, but let Joe do what he wanted. A novelty. After they dried and dressed, trading one towel because Joe was behind on laundry, Joe headed for the fridge while Web went to find his school bag. It had gotten dropped somewhere between the front door and the bedroom. It was exam season and Joe had been pulling night shifts for a week straight, so Web had only made it about two steps into the apartment before Joe’s tongue was in his mouth. 

“You staying over?” Joe asked, head in the fridge. 

“Uh, yeah?” Web sounded distant, distracted. “I guess.”

Joe scowled at the ancient subway sandwich in his cheese drawer. It was making the fridge smell like feet, but hadn’t gotten up and taken off on its own yet like he’d been hoping. “What the fuck does that mean,” Joe muttered, pulling out a tinfoil-wrapped dish of lasagne. He peeled up one corner to take a sniff. “You want lasagne?” he called. 

“Okay,” Web said. He was behind Joe, now, fumbling in a cupboard. 

“And what the fuck do you mean, you guess?” Joe said, backing out of the fridge. He turned around to find Web staring at him blankly, mouth open. 

“Huh?”

“You said ‘I guess’ about staying over.”

Web blinked. He had a mug in one hand. “Uh, because… I was agreeing with you?”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “You always stay over on Fridays.”

“Yeah…” Web shut his mouth so he could frown. It was about the only time he did. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Joe shrugged and put the lasagne on the counter. “Nothing.” He opened a drawer, looking for tupperware. 

Behind him, Web shifted. “Hold on,” he said. “Are you mad at me?”

Joe scratched the side of his nose. “Nah.” He pulled out a tub that looked big enough and upended the lasagne into it. Ah, shit, now the cheese was on the bottom. Oh, well. 

“Babe…” Web said, slowly. 

“I’m not mad.” Joe opened the microwave and shoved the lasagne in, slammed the door, and set the timer. He picked up the tinfoil from the counter and balled it up. When he turned around to pitch it toward the garbage, Web was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, brow furrowed. 

“So you’re just being a jackass for no reason?”

Joe rolled his eyes. He threw the tinfoil. It bounced off the rim of the over-full can and hit the floor. “I always have a reason, asshole.”

Web did that slow head-wobble that made him look like a stupid novelty toy. “Alright…”

Joe smiled at him. “You look like an idiot when you do that.” Web clapped his mouth shut, even though that wasn’t what Joe had meant. Funny, though. He stepped around Web to pick up the tinfoil ball, then detoured back and crowded Web between both arms, braced on the counter either side of his hips. “I’m not mad,” he said again. 

“Uh huh.” Web ducked down, letting his mouth hover an inch from Joe’s. “Prove it.”

Joe snorted. “You think you’re pretty cute, huh?”

Web tipped one shoulder. “My mom keeps telling me I am.”

Moms. Joe swallowed. “Hey,” he said. 

Web said, “Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Web was quiet for a second, looking at him from so close Joe’s eyes blurred. “Yeah,” he said at last, and leaned in the last inch to say, “I love you too,” against Joe’s mouth.

~*~

They had lasagne and Joe hollered at the tv while Web pretended to study something but mostly fiddled around on his phone and annoyed Joe by digging his toes farther under Joe’s ass on the couch every time he lurched half-upright at a near-miss on the goal. 

Joe slapped Web’s calf. “Pay attention, look at this shit.”

“Bite me,” said Web, scrolling on his phone and not looking anywhere near the tv. As far as Joe was concerned, it was the greatest and cruelest irony that Web couldn’t care less about a team called the Sharks. To be fair, Web couldn’t care less about most sports if they happened on tv. Once, he’d said, “Maybe if you found your old hockey gear and wore that for me some weekend…” He’d been joking, but Joe’d actually considered it for a couple seconds. 

“You just want to pretend you got to fuck me when I was seventeen and pimply,” he’d replied finally, before the silence gave him away. 

Web had grinned at him. “What do you think I’m usually imagining when we fuck?” 

Web liked _playing_ sports well enough, on the weekends or at school, but Joe was pretty sure he’d go into anaphylactic shock if someone tried to make him sign a contract or show up to practice on time. Getting a job when he was out of school was going to be a big surprise, Joe often thought with anticipatory schadenfreude. Web hardly managed to go to most of his classes on a regular basis, and went drunk often as not - Joe had no idea how he hadn’t flunked out or gotten expelled yet. 

“Fuck,” Joe said, watching the puck rebound off the post. “Did you see that?”

“No.” Web wiggled his feet under Joe’s ass, which was too bony to handle that kind of abuse. 

Joe shoved at him. “Quit it.”

“Hey.” Web dropped his phone on his chest, on top of the book he had spread open across his stomach. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

Joe squinted, leaning sideways to try and pry Web’s foot out of his spine. “Is that a trick question?”

Web made a face. “No, asshole. But don’t you usually go eat Chinese food with your family or something? Isn’t that the Jewish tradition?”

Joe looked away, grinning helplessly. “Jesus,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that’s who I’m talking about.” Web poked him in the thigh with his toes. “You want to, uh.” He broke off, and when Joe glanced at him, he was chewing his bottom lip, nose wrinkled.

“What,” said Joe.

Web shrugged, picking up his phone again but only turning it over in his hands. “You want to come home with me for the week?”

Joe frowned. “Like your apartment?” It wasn’t a bad idea; Web usually came to his place on the weekends because it was closer to downtown and Joe only had one roommate who was gone half the week, instead of the four omnipresent ones Web had. But Web’s apartment was nice - a lot nicer than Joe’s - and a change of scenery might be fun. 

“No, like New York.”

Joe blinked. He opened and shut his mouth. “Huh?” 

“Like, do you want to fly to New York with me for a week and meet my - my family.”

Joe wasn’t imagining the little hitch in Web’s breath, but he couldn’t concentrate on it either. Something cold and panicked had just started sucking all the blood out of his head. He stared at Web, the way Web’s eyes were darting around the room and not meeting his. 

Joe laughed. He didn’t mean to, it just came out of him. “No,” he said. 

Web’s eyes snapped to his, eyebrows shooting up. “No?”

Joe shook his head. He leaned back into the couch, forgetting about Web’s foot still stuck behind him. He barely felt it. “Nah, come on. That’s crazy.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” Joe made a gesture, aimless, trying to encompass everything he had no idea how to say. “That’s - I’m not - Nobody wants that.”

Web said, “Well… I do.”

“You’re fucking nuts.” Joe laughed again, on purpose this time. It sounded a lot worse. “It would be a disaster.”

Web pulled his foot out from behind Joe. He sat up straight, his book falling into his lap and losing his place. “No, it wouldn’t. Why?”

There was a roaring starting in Joe’s left ear. He twitched, trying to shake it away. “Hanging out with your family for a week? I’d lose my goddamn mind. _You’d_ lose your mind dealing with me. Your parents would probably never speak to you again.”

“It would be fine, don’t be ridiculous. They’re the ones who suggested it.”

Joe shrugged. The lasagne was starting to get heavy in the pit of his stomach; maybe he needed to go lean over the toilet for a while. “Great, then tell them I can’t get time off work or something. You’re off the hook.”

“What -” said Web. He was frowning so hard his eyebrows were nearly a solid line. “There’s no _hook_, I just -”

Joe got up. He rubbed his sweating palms down his thighs. “It’s fine, Web. This ain’t that kind of situation, anyway.” 

“What isn’t?”

Joe climbed over the coffee table. “Meeting parents and shit, you know. That’s not what this is.” He waved a hand between them, then turned it into a patting of his pockets. “Gonna go have a smoke.”

Web said, very quietly, “It’s not?”

“Where’s my fuckin’ lighter,” Joe muttered, heading for the door. 

~*~

Web stayed the night, but he was pretty quiet the whole time, which suited Joe fine. He wasn’t in much of a talking mood, either. In the morning, he woke up when Web wiggled out from the clutch of Joe’s nocturnal cuddle habit and got out of bed. 

“Time ‘s it?” Joe mumbled. 

“Seven,” said Web. “Listen, I’m going to take off.”

Joe lifted his head off the pillow, muzzy. “Where are you going?”

“Got stuff to do.” Web was turning in circles, looking for his clothes. 

Joe watched him. That cold sinking feeling was back, disorienting and sickening this early in the morning. He hadn’t thrown up last night, but maybe he should have. “Okay,” he said. He was trying to figure out if the lack of anger he felt was a good or bad thing, but he was too tired to tell. 

Web found his clothes and grabbed his phone off the side table where Joe kept an iPhone charger plugged in for him because he always forgot his at home. And then he leaned over and kissed Joe on the side of the mouth and left. 

Joe laid in bed until he thought he’d die if he didn’t get a smoke and some coffee, and then he laid there a little longer.

~*~

He hadn’t been trying to pull a fast one, they really didn’t do stuff like that. He’d talked to Web’s parents on FaceTime once or twice over Web’s shoulder, and on the phone a couple times, when Web handed it to him to tie his shoes or carry groceries, but it had never been a thing. Nothing Joe paid attention to, anyway. Web talked to his parents every few days, visited them every holiday, sent them letters and postcards like a dork, and it never crossed Joe’s mind that was anything but another bizarre thing about Web he could only shake his head about. It hadn’t really occurred to him that… Well. 

_That_ was a lie. It had occurred to him distantly, vaguely, in all kinds of little ways. When Web said stuff like how they’d have to get a two car garage one day (and Joe laughed in his face, because Web could barely operate a bicycle, no law-abiding DMV was ever going to issue him a driver’s licence), or when Joe thought idly how much better it would be once Web graduated and they wouldn’t have to structure their sex schedule around work _and_ school because they’d be coming home to the same house every day, or when Web asked if he was really sure he was still allergic to dogs, because he'd seen spaniel puppies for sale, and Joe lied and said yes. When Joe said, “What do you think of Anastasia for a kid’s name?” and Web hummed and said, "I like it, very Russian," and Joe said, "Ugh, never mind." 

Eventually Joe got out of bed and made himself breakfast. He ate cereal standing up in the kitchen, anyway. Halfway through the bowl, he pulled out his phone and called Maxine. 

"What," she said. 

Joe remembered it was before 8am on a Saturday morning. He didn't apologize. He said, around the spoon in his mouth, "Mom wants me to pick you up for dinner tonight."

"Okay…" said Maxine. 

Joe put more cereal in his mouth. "Hey, remember when I was like eleven and told you I didn't want to kiss girls?" 

There was a long silence. "Sorry," said Maxine at last, after some rustling, "dropped my phone for a sec. Were you just trying to come out to me?" 

"I already did," Joe said. "When I was eleven. It's not my fault you weren't paying attention." 

Maxine sighed. "I have better things to be doing right now, Joseph. Like sleeping. What's your point." 

"I'm going to bring my boyfriend to dinner tonight." 

"Fine, whatever. I know Mom told you to bring juice, too, so make sure you get me grapefruit." 

"Eat me," said Joe, and hung up. 

~*~

He found Web at the cafe down the street. Unfortunately, it was called Deja Brew, which was enough for Joe to cross the road to avoid it, but Web frequented it with a devotion bordering on the co-dependent. With the amount of his parents’ money he’d dropped there over the years, Joe was pretty sure Web had single-handedly put more than one starving barista through their humanities degree. The door jingled merrily when Joe yanked it open. He made a beeline for the window table where a stack of books obscured all but the top of Web’s hunched bedhead.

"Hey," he said. "I was going to -" He broke off, appalled. "Have you been _crying_?" 

Web scowled at him with bloodshot eyes. "Shut up. What do you want?" 

Joe grabbed the back of the chair across from Web, white-knuckling it. His knees were abruptly weak, like he hadn’t eaten all day. "Why the hell were you crying?" 

"None of your goddamn business," said Web. 

Joe took four deep breaths. He'd been working hard on that lately, breathing and counting and picturing big empty fields, feeling the length of his limbs, the weight of his body. There was a meditation podcast downloaded on his phone and everything. "I am interested," he said, very deliberately, "in your feelings." 

Web laughed, a pissed off, damp little scoff. "Pull the other one." 

"I am!" said Joe. "Christ knows if I wasn't, I'd never get a second of goddamn peace." 

Web pushed his open book away, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms. "Why do _you_ think I'm upset, Joe?" 

Joe shrugged. "I don't know, probably because I'm a reactive asshole who makes you feel insecure about our relationship because I'm bad at expressing my feelings." 

Web blinked. "Oh," he said. "Well…" 

Joe pulled the chair out and sat down. His heart was hammering. He steepled his hands on the table, then flattened them, because that looked stupid. He cleared his throat. "Do you want to come to dinner at my mom's house tonight?" Web's mouth, which had been pursed, fell open. Joe held up a hand, forestalling any nonsense. "Just yes or no." 

"I mean, no," said Web. "I'm mad at you." 

"Right." Joe nodded. "Okay. Yeah." He cleared his throat, because it felt tight. "Alright, that's fine." 

Web leaned forward. "Here's a better question. Do _you_ want me to come to dinner at your mom's?" 

Joe made a face. "No, obviously not. My family is nuts, you'll have a shitty time. You'll probably break up with me after." 

Web rolled his eyes. He made a disgusted noise. "For fucksakes, Joe." 

"I'm not kidding, it'll be awful." 

"Well, I'm pretty used to awful behaviour at this point, so what's the difference?" Web tilted his chin. He blinked five or six times. 

Joe blinked too, because watching it made his eyes itch. He opened his mouth, said, “You never -” and stopped. He didn’t know what he’d been about to say. It felt like his heart was beating in his stomach. 

“I’m about to break up with you anyway,” Web said, looking off to the side. 

As threats went, it wasn’t necessarily a very good one. They’d broken up more times than Joe could be bothered to count. Usually over dumb shit like not texting back for two days, or that time Joe forgot to pick Web up from a houseparty across the city, or when Web brought pizza with _shrimp_ to Joe’s Superbowl Sunday even though he knew it was disgusting and not kosher and also that Joe was violently allergic. Besides, it’d been three hours since Web left Joe’s apartment, and he was still sitting in a cafe two blocks away. As far as declarations of intent went, it wasn’t especially convincing.

“Okay, fine,” Joe finally said. His hand twitched across the table. Web looked at it, but his arms were still folded. “Break up with me then, whatever. But do you want to come to dinner first?”

Web sniffed. His bottom lip jutted for a second, then he sucked it back in and glanced at Joe through his wet eyelashes. “I want to know why you want me to.”

A dart of pain speared Joe through the left temple. He pushed a thumb between his eyes, trying to drive it back. “Because…” he said slowly, “we might as well get it over with. It’s going to happen at some point, I’m not going to let my mom have the upper hand deciding when.”

Web scoffed. “I thought this _wasn’t that kind of situation_.” 

Joe didn’t need to look to know exactly what kind of face Web was pulling. It was the kind that somehow made airquotes with his eyebrows. “Listen, I just.” He curled his fingers and knocked his knuckles on the table. There were two women sitting a few tables over, a man with a baby ordering at the counter, a hipster by the window with a stack of books as high as Web’s. The cafe was quiet, otherwise. Some kind of scratchy jazz shit was playing softly over the speakers. A coffee machine hissed and bubbled. The pendant lights hanging from the ceiling threw lacy patterns on the tile floor. Joe counted to six and backwards again. “I freaked out, okay? I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to invalidate our entire relationship and make me feel like shit?” Web prompted, when Joe sat there way too long searching his mouth for the next words. 

“Yeah,” said Joe, relieved. He nodded. “Exactly.”

Web’s pursed mouth pursed a little more, then softened. “Well, you did.”

“I know.” Joe swallowed. His knee started bouncing under the table. “I know. That’s why I’m, uh -” He gestured between them.

Web’s eyebrows rose slowly. He mimicked the gesture. “What, Joe? Why you’re what?”

Joe rolled his eyes. He made a little noise meant to be a venting of dismissive frustration. It came out damp. “Christ, you’re so fucking obnoxious sometimes.”

“I know!” Web said, as if Joe had told him the red light meant stop. Then he barreled ahead anyway, just like he had the one and only time Joe tried to teach him to drive. “So why the fuck are you here? Why the fuck do you want me to come to your mom’s place? Maybe you bought a clue this morning and realized you don’t want to scare off your one reliable booty call, but what’s in it for me?” His voice dropped, cracking a little in the middle. He leaned forward across the table, arms still crossed. “Tell me.”

The coffee machine kept bubbling and hissing. The bell above the door jingled. The air smelled like cinnamon. Joe’s knee stopped bouncing. “I love you,” he said. Web stared at him silently, impassive. Joe shrugged. “That’s all,” he said. He looked down at the table. “That’s all I got for you. I know I’m shitty, but so are you, so let’s like… I don’t know. I want us to keep being shitty together.”

A long moment passed. Finally, Web sighed. He dropped back into his chair. “Goddamnit,” he sighed. Another beat. “I’m such a fucking sucker,” he said.

When Joe peeked up, a stupid little grin was starting to creep across Web’s face. At the sight of it, one started forcing itself onto Joe’s face too. He tried to stop it, but it ignored him. They sat there like fucking idiots, grinning at each other, until Web leaned forward again, this time all the way across the table, to kiss Joe. Joe returned it, his heart lurching back up into his chest, banging away. When Web drew away, Joe took a deep breath. This next bit was the scary part. 

“I have something else to say, too,” he said. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” 

Web’s face fell like a dropped piano. His voice went thick with dread. “About what?”

Joe winced. “I’m…” He looked to the heavens for strength. He took the plunge. “I’m not actually allergic to dogs.”

Web’s mouth dropped open. Overhead, the scratchy jazz warbled on. “Oh, you son of a bitch,” Web said.

~*~

It was after midnight by the time Joe managed to get them out of the house. Web was a little drunk, flushed from the shitty grocery store wine Maxine had brought, and laughed the whole way to the car. Joe, juggling four tupperware containers, still managed to open the door for him, then piled the tubs on his lap and slammed the door and stomped around to the driver’s side. He, unfortunately, was stone fucking sober. Halfway down the driveway, Web reached over to turn off the radio. He stared at the side of Joe’s head until Joe, against his will, glanced at him.

“What,” Joe snapped.

Web’s grin got bigger and bigger until all his dumb, bright, orthodontically-perfected teeth showed. “Your mom looooooves me,” he sang.

Joe gritted his teeth. He jerked the car out onto the road. “Shut up.”

“Look,” Web said, tapping the corner of his mouth. “Still got lipstick on me.”

“I said shut the fuck up.” Joe slapped the radio on again. “You’re drunk.”

“What kind of color scheme do you want for our wedding?” Web asked. “Is blue and white overdone? What about yellow and purple?”

“I will drive us both into oncoming traffic, motherfucker,” Joe said. 

Web just laughed some more. 

~*~

They flew out of SFO on December 22nd. Joe took the aisle seat, which Web bitched and complained about until, ten minutes later, he fell abruptly, deeply asleep on Joe’s shoulder. He drooled the whole way there, and Joe sat perfectly still, their hands tangled on the armrest between them, waiting to land.


End file.
